But the old man seemed to understand. All he said was wash up, we’re going home.

Now the dickhead woulda never acted so cool. The dickhead woulda said something nasty and made him feel low.

Well, fuck him ’cause he’s gone with the wind and that was fine with him.

He lay on his pillow thinking about the wad of bills in his wallet, the cash stolen from the old lady’s private reserve along with a bunch of her jewelry, most of it looking like junk.

But the pearl necklace looked pretty good. It might get him a few bucks if he found a decent fence.

If the fucking sun would ever come up.

Three-oh-six.

More waiting, waiting, waiting.

Him, stuck in this dump that stunk of piss and pesticide, this crap hole that was nothing more than four paper walls and a floor so sticky it made him nervous to go barefoot.

Who knew what kind of shit was tossed on it?

The only ones who didn’t seem to mind were the cock-a-roaches. He played his usual game, saw how many he could squish, then stopped counting after twenty-two.

Who really wanted to squish cock-a-roaches anyway? No body to them, nothing that you could really feel. Like the fish heads, now them you could feel underfoot. The only fun thing about the cock-a-roaches was squishing them in the corners, seeing the white junk pop out of their bodies.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the outside noises seeping through the closed window. The middle of the night, and the streets below were full of honks, beeps, shouts, and drunks throwing up.

Fuck it. Tomorrow, he’d be flying to Paradise—where the sun shines bright and the babes are bitchin’ all year long.

But in the meantime, it was waiting, waiting, waiting.

He remembered someone saying that all good things come to those who wait.

He thought about that for a moment.

Then he decided whoever said that was a fucking idiot.

13

“Ezra, my pearls are gone,” Breina Levine announced.

Groggy and nauseated, functioning on only three hours of sleep, Ezra Levine rubbed his eyes. “You’re worried about your pearls at a time like this?”

Breina pushed around the trinkets in her jewelry box. “My pearls, my gold necklace, my gold hoops—”

“We were robbed last night?” Ezra said.

“I don’t know,” Breina said. “I’ll check the silver.”

Ezra sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes were puffy and raw, his skin ultrasensitive, prickling when hit by the slightest draft. His temples ached from clenched jaws.

Hashem was testing him. That could be the only reason for such bad fate. Hashem was testing him, just like Job.